


Two Left Feet

by kuro49



Category: Common Law
Genre: Dancing, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:51:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wes is married to Alex before he meets Travis. And that is both the beginning and the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Left Feet

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by _I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You_ by The Black Kids, prompted and edited by Atom.

There is gunpowder and the sound of resounding shots ringing echoes down the range. The first time Travis meets Wes, Paekman has a smile on his face that neither one of them can decipher.

He takes his offered hand just as someone else fires another round. Travis imagines it to be a gunshot wound that makes a mess.

Wes lets go of his hand first and it leaves Travis with a dizzying burn.

(Though that might just be all the hand sanitizer Wes puts on.)

 

Eighteen foster homes, and three photo albums of foster brothers and sisters later, Travis becomes a man. He learns not to take what he wants; he still surprises himself every time.

 

"You're here." The door opens and Wes' frown becomes a scowl. "Why are you here?"

"Alex invited me, house warming present." Travis grins, holding up a potted plant as he pushes his way in.

"It's dying, Travis. The soil is dry and the leaves are all yellow." Wes looks down at the sad little thing Travis has dumped into his hands. His eyes are narrowed before glancing back up to his partner who is already halfway down the hall of his new house. "Travis!"

"It's not dying, Wes. But if it is, it's your fault, Roxy's in your hands now." He spins on his heels, hands clutching at his heart, eyes wide. "Treat my girl right, Wes. Roxy is short for Roxanne by the way "

"You _named_ a potted plant?"

Travis raises an eyebrow and asks, "you _don't_?"

They hear Alex laughing in the dining room.

 

His wedding band is silver, a simple thing that costs a small house.

Hers matches.

Travis is biting on his tongue and smiling through his teeth as he eats the home cooking that Alex confesses, after just a cup of wine, to be Wes' handiwork instead of hers. It tastes so good, he doesn't dare to ask for more.

Not the food, no, he asks for a second plate and the recipe to go.

 

They are in the living room, stereo winding down for the next song.

"Wes doesn't dance." Alex says as she stands up, taking his hand in the process.

"Baby's got two left feet," Travis answers with a tilt of his head backwards, catching Wes with his arms crossed over his chest by the entrance of the room. Adding as he shrugs, "I presume."

Alex laughs, Wes scowls and they are too much and just not enough. Travis has to look away. The music starts again, smooth jazz, her dark hair slips from where she has it tucked behind her ear.

"You should teach Wes how to dance." She says in a whisper, too close, too warm in his arms. Travis shakes his head, feels Wes' gaze on his back, they are turning and turning, and Travis doesn't know how to say it in a way he can't seem to twist it. "I'm not going teach your boyfriend how to dance with you."

"Husband." Wes corrects from his spot by the door, "that's my wife you're talking to."

Alex smiles a smile Travis doesn't want to decipher. And then she is laying her head on his shoulder, leading him to face Wes, Wes who has his head lowered and a slight flush spreading high on his cheeks to disappear in the V of his collar.

Travis wants to know how far that goes.

Instead, he twirls her around the room until she is breathless and the prettiest shade of pink.

 

Wes hasn't pulled his gun on Travis. And Alex hasn't wanted a divorce.

These things will happen, regardless, but in that moment, he is dancing and the music hasn't stopped.

XXX Kuro


End file.
